


and I'll be good to you, if you're good to me

by jolie_unfiltrd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dancing, Denial of Feelings, Dirty Dancing, F/M, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 03:49:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12268275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolie_unfiltrd/pseuds/jolie_unfiltrd
Summary: Three tequila shots, one vodka cranberry, and two beers later, Sansa was thoroughly intoxicated, but also thoroughly enjoying herself, hips swaying back and forth on the dance floor, in a world all her own. Her heels had been kicked off in a corner, and she couldn’t help singing along to all of her favorite songs. This was her night, dammit, and she was here to have a good time. Jon Snow, however, was not. Sansa Stark was dancing right in front of him, in her own world, her short skirt riding up in a way that could in no way be considered decent, hips twisting sinfully with the music. Her long legs went on and on in the dark light of the bar, and it was so easy to imagine licking a path from her knee up to - Tormund clapped a hand on his shoulder roughly. “Having a good night there, Jonny boy?”





	and I'll be good to you, if you're good to me

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "Emergency" by Icona Pop (lyrics are mixed in throughout). Mix together a slightly drunk Sansa, a sober Jon, dancing in the dark, a slight dose of sexually ambiguous Margaery, Tormund loves to torment, and here we are. Thanks for reading!

_So you wanna party? So you wanna dance?_  
You better know someone, then find someone of our friends  
You wanna get higher? Shake that ass  
Spinning 'round and 'round, and 'round and 'round like that

__

__

_I put a little twist in my hips (Here we go)_  
Kiss on my lips (Here we go)  
Ice on my wrist ‘cause I'm hot and I'm dancing (Here we go)  
Caught that romancin' (Here we go)  
Cancel your plans and (Here we go)  
Girls hide your mans, ‘cause I'm hot and I'm dancing (Here we go)

//////

Short skirt, towering heels, red lipstick - it was the first time she had been out since dumping Joffrey, and Sansa Stark was here for it. After being assured, repeatedly, by Brienne and Margaery that he wouldn’t be there, that it was a girl’s night and all about her, she had put on her prettiest barely-there underthings, allowed Margaery to do her make-up, and grinned when Brienne said she would come out with them that night. “For moral support,” she had insisted, but Sansa knew better. A certain blond-haired man with the body of Adonis was working behind the bar that night, and though Brienne may be many things, subtle was not one of them. After a half-hour of longing looks at the man behind the bar, his rolled-up shirt sleeves and carefully tousled blonde hair, Sansa had insisted Brienne go to get the drinks for the table, and she hadn’t come back since, leaving Sansa and Margaery at the table, doing a round or three of tequila shots to get the night rolling. 

But then Margaery had migrated to the other side of the bar, allowing handsome boys to buy her drinks and laughing outrageously at the jokes of the ones she really liked - she was wily, it was true, but also genuine in a strange, sort of southern way. If Sansa heard her say “oh, bless your heart…” one more time, she was going to strangle the girl. She tossed her long curls over her shoulder and leaned forward as if letting them in on a secret, knowing that the boy in front of her could see straight down to her belly button - and Sansa nearly laughed out loud at the twitter-pated look on that poor boy’s face. Tommen didn’t stand a chance. 

She finished the last bit of her beer, glancing at the time on her phone. It had been fifteen minutes since both of her friends had disappeared, and she was beginning to realize there was no way they were coming back. She’d be upset but Brienne was finally getting the balls to talk to Jaime, and Margaery was within distance of the dance floor if she really needed her so… it was decided. She was going to get trashed, dance the night away, and eat some terrible fast food to cap off her now-solo girl’s night. She slammed her empty bottle down and strode up to the bar to join Margaery. 

She was greeted by a shriek and open arms from the brunette, hugging her tightly as though they hadn’t spent all evening getting ready together. She pulled Sansa away from her harem towards the bar, hands resting on Sansa’s arms seriously. She locked eyes with her as if they were about to make a solemn vow, asking in a low voice, “Are you alright, Sansa?” 

A soft smile appeared on her face - she loved her friends - and she nodded, squeezing Margaery’s hands. A wicked grin spread across the brunette’s face. “Good, then let’s do shots!”  
Sansa groaned but ultimately couldn’t resist the infectious pleas of her friend, and giggled as she gave in to her demands, before knocking back a tequila shot and wincing. “Marg, gods, I thought we decided no more tequila!” 

“We did, but…” Margaery trailed off, winking outrageously at her friend, “you need to get on the dance floor, and the Lord of Light knows tequila is your one-stop ticket there.” 

Sansa raised a finger as if to argue with her friend, paused, and remembered the last time tequila had been involved. She believed a table had also been involved. More specifically, her dancing on top of the table. And if she wanted to be really detailed about the night, which her memories were night, she could vaguely remember being told that she was yanked from the table when it was closing time, just before she started trying to strip off her top. Flashing a wicked grin at her friend, she simply turned towards the bar to flag down the newest bartender, some boy named Pod - gods what a name, that poor boy - and ordered yet another round. 

Three tequila shots, one vodka cranberry, and two beers later, Sansa was thoroughly intoxicated, but also thoroughly enjoying herself, hips swaying back and forth on the dance floor, in a world all her own. Her heels had been kicked off in a corner, and she couldn’t help singing along to all of her favorite songs. This was her night, dammit, and she was here to have a good time.

////

_I put a little twist in my hips (Here we go)  
Kiss on my lips (Here we go)_

////

Jon Snow, however, was not. Having drawn the short straw for the night, he was the designated sober driver for his raucous group of friends. Pip and Green were huddled in a corner with their beers, having already progressed to heartfelt heart-to-hearts and “I love you man” repeated back and forth ad nauseam, whereas Tormund was on the edge of the dance floor, dancing enthusiastically, if not especially gracefully, to the music. Jon winced as he noticed another man just barely duck in time to avoid an elbow to the face - again. Sam was the only one technically keeping him company at the table, and he was six beers deep, sending what seemed to be sexy texts to Gilly, based on the flush running up the side of his neck and the nervous giggles that kept escaping the man. 

Normally, he wouldn’t mind being the sober odd man out. He had spent many a night sitting and nursing a single beer as his friends did a wide variety of stupid things, before herding them into the car, inevitably driving through and purchasing some truly delicious and artery-clogging fast food, then dropping them off one by one. They all took turns, so it was fair and fine and he was totally okay with it. 

But tonight, Sansa Stark was dancing right in front of him, in her own world, her short skirt riding up in a way that could in no way be considered decent, hips twisting sinfully with the music. Her long legs went on and on in the dark light of the bar, and it was so easy to imagine licking a path from her knee up to - 

Tormund clapped a hand on his shoulder roughly. “Having a good night there, Jonny boy?” Jon grimaced a rough smile, almost thankful his fantasy had been interrupted. Almost. 

“Aye, it’s alright,” he couldn’t help his eyes from darting back to the redhead who had her back to him now, hair swaying from it’s high ponytail, just a hint of lace peeking up over her hipbone and - 

he flushed, and looked back to Tormund, guilt flashing across his face like quicksilver as the bearded man figured out where he was looking. Tormund laughed his great booming laugh and smacked him on the shoulder once more. “I’d wager it’s better than alright, sitting here with this view.” His eyebrows waggled back and forth suggestively, and Jon wanted to smack the man but knew from experience Tormund would only make a bigger scene until San- someone would notice. So, he rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, go get back on the dance floor, you big oaf.” 

He should have known something like this would happen, Jon mused. Tormund seemed to love nothing more than to mess with his friends. Jon only wished he wouldn’t do it like this. He tightened his left hand into a fist as he saw him approach her, a mischievous grin on his lips as he glanced back towards Jon. 

////

_So you wanna party? So you wanna dance?  
You better know someone, then find someone of our friends_

////

Sansa had been surprised when Tormund came up to her, shoulders moving outlandishly and hips swinging as if he was his own one-person swing-dancing club. He grabbed her hand and twirled her around; she was suddenly grateful she had ditched her heels, no way would she have been able to keep her balance with those stilettos on. She laughed out loud at his next attempt, for her to spin him, despite a rather considerable height difference. 

////

_You wanna get higher? Shake that ass  
Spinning 'round and 'round, and 'round and 'round like that_

////

Jon tried, he really did. He consciously relaxed his jaw, unwrapped his fingers from where they were white-knuckled around his beer, and tried to look over at his friends, ignoring the absolute spectacle that was happening in front of him - Sansa and Tormund dancing, Tormund spinning Sansa, Sansa laughing… 

Before he knew it, he had leapt out of his chair and made his way onto the dance floor, startling the two red-heads into stopping their ridiculous movements, having suddenly noticed the dark-haired man with a dark glint in his eyes. Tormund took note of the fists slowly forming at the man’s side, and wisely let go of Sansa’s hand. He turned towards her, made an elaborate mock-bow in his direction, and then departed, hands up in surrender behind her back - she couldn’t see him, but Jon could, and that was enough. The crow was so easy to torment. 

Sansa had stopped in total surprise, not expecting to see Jon at her favorite bar. She couldn’t help but to throw her arms around his neck and pull him in for a tight embrace, the alcohol in her system lessening her normal need for personal space. “Jon, it’s you! I haven’t seen you in so long!” She pressed her body up against his, savoring the warmth of his body on this chilly October night; she may have been dancing vigorously, but the bar keeps kept the doors open, and the chill was starting to get to her now that she had stopped moving. He had more lean muscle than he remembered, and surely his shoulders hadn’t been so broad the last time she had seen him? Although, she couldn’t help but wonder if he had been frozen in her mind as the scrawny, surly high school freshmen - and now she was re-learning him, all over again. 

He knew she was saying something. In fact, he was sure of it - her voice was chattering in his ear, but the Seven save him, he had no idea what is was, so shocked was he by her body against his own. Had it really been so long since he had held a woman in his arms? Or was it just that it was her, soft curves and long legs and her sweet smell that always reminded him of home? He nearly groaned when the breeze from the doors hit them both, feeling the press of her nipples against his chest - gods, was the woman not wearing a bra? 

She heard him make a noise but could hardly tell what it was over the music still pulsing in her ears, but when she pulled back from him, a questioning look on her face, he shook his head, though there was a flush spreading up the sides of his neck to the tips of his ears, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. There was a dark look in his eyes that she didn’t understand, but she did know she wanted to keep dancing, and Jon was here in front of her. How serendipitous.

“Dance with me,” she ordered, fully aware this was something that didn’t really fall in line with the tentative friendship that had formed. She had come home from university, and he was there working, and for the first time, they had started to hang out without Robb or Arya or anyone else present. It turned out that they both liked old movies, so she had someone to drag to the drive-ins when no one else would go with her. And she was the only one that would eat the spicy Thai food from the place down the street, so they had made it a habit. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, the dark brooding boy from her childhood replaced by someone with a wry humor, and a smile that would start slowly at the corner of his mouth, working its way across his face like a sunrise. Just like it was doing now, bashful and shy. 

“Sansa, you know I don’t dance -“ 

She cut him off. “Well, you do now, and you do with me.” She grabbed his hands and placed them firmly on her hips, feeling a shock through the thin fabric of her top as his thumbs automatically brushed against her hipbones, feeling the lace that had crept up during the night. Her eyes snapped up to his as she placed her wrists on his shoulder, letting her hips start to pulse with the beat again, moving close to him as she gyrated, feeling his body respond and mirror hers. His eyes were curiously dark, and a simmering heat started to pool at the junction of her thighs. She swallowed, surprised any man could have this effect on her, let alone Jon. Somehow they had begun to move towards the center of the crowd, letting the darkness and the press of bodies nudge them closer and closer together, until their foreheads were nearly touching, and she was practically straddling his leg as they danced. 

She wanted to pretend it was the alcohol making her feel this way, but tequila made her want to dance, not press every inch of her bare skin against his, licking up the side of his neck and across his chest and down, down, down. Vodka just made her talkative, it didn’t make her want to straddle that pouty mouth and find out if the gossip was true in a way that would make her toes curl and her back arch and her hands grip the headboard. Maybe she could blame it on the beers, but this electricity thrumming in her veins didn’t feel like a normal buzz. 

Her skirt was riding up, he noticed, and if the lace on her hips was any indication of what lay underneath, there was only a thin layer separating her cunt from his leg. There was a gleam of sweat on her collarbone, and he ached to lick it off. His pupils grew darker and he pulled her even closer as he imagined pulling her into a dark corner and - 

Margaery found them in the middle of the dance floor, a devious grin lurking on the corner of her mouth. She tapped Sansa on the shoulder and twisted her around, pushing her backwards so the redhead’s hips slammed backwards into Jon, smiling triumphantly as Jon’s eyes widened and he let out a barely audible moan, grasping her hips once more and looking absolutely tormented. Good, Margaery thought. Sansa deserved to be wanted like that. It should have been a surprise it was Jon who wanted her like that, but no matter. And if she thought about it for a minute, she wasn’t really surprised at all.  
Margaery stepped up close to her friend, matching her hips to the rhythm as she got closer, stroking her hands down Sansa’s arms in a way that reminded her friend how handsy Marg was when she was drunk. “We’re going to get food, do you want to come?” 

Sansa bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder at the man behind her before shaking her head. “I’m good.” Margaery raised a delicate eyebrow at her friend. Sansa squeezed her hands tightly before telling her, “Jon is Jon. He’d never hurt me.” 

Jon was only human, just a mortal man. Sansa pressed up against him, hips still rotating in a way that tasted like sin, made him want to bend her over a table and take her roughly. But when Margaery stepped in closer, sandwiching the redhead in-between them, he couldn’t help the images that flashed through his mind of the two of them on either side of her, taking turns licking and kissing and pinching and stroking and - 

He squeezed her hips to get her attention, and when she turned back to him in surprise, said in her ear, just loud enough to be heard over the pulsing base, “I need a drink.” He turned and wove his way through the crowd of people off the dance floor, desperate for a rush of cold air to clear his head. He ordered a beer at the bar, taking a few eager gulps before wincing. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t sure there was enough beer in the world to make him forget dancing with Sansa Stark and return to their easy friendship of before. Not when he was forced to face the facts: he wanted her, desperately, had wanted her for years. He had been able to ignore it before, forcing himself to accept their friendship, enjoying the banter between them, discovering the joy of her sudden laughter as it tumbled out of her. He had even started to treasure the snarky comments under her breath at the family dinners over the years. Who knew she was so funny? He had accepted that they were friends, and that’s all they would ever be, and he needed to remember that. She would forget this in the morning, forget him, and everything would be back to normal. 

Margaery handed her drink to Sansa and left her in the middle of the dance floor, sipping a long-island iced tea and trying not to look forlorn. It was just Jon, after all, and she had asked him to dance, and it probably didn’t mean anything and he probably didn’t want her the way she wanted him and if only she hadn’t asked him to dance. Then she wouldn’t know what it felt like to be pressed up against him, the feel of his body against her own, the rhythm of his hips and his hands wrapped around her hipbones and his breath against the back of her neck. She rolled her eyes at her inner dramatics, and vowed to buy a vibrator as soon as she got home. All this pent-up sexual tension was good for no one.

Margaery casually bumped into Jon Snow with her hip, leaning forward on the bar next to him. “You two make quite the pair.” He started to protest and she shushed him, waving away his protests. “We’re taking home your friends, it turns out that Tormund has developed quite a little crush on Brienne and won’t stop following her around anyway,” she added with a wink, “so you are free to do who you choose.” A sly grin spread across her face. “And what you choose, and where you choose, though if it were me, I’d take her home quickly so you don’t end up fucking in the middle of a crowd where - “

Brienne yanked the talkative brunette away, apologizing to Jon and ushering the crowd of people towards the door. Jon’s jaw had dropped during his one-sided conversation with Margaery, but he couldn’t help but laugh at the dumb-struck look on Tormund’s face as he followed Brienne, while she distinctly tried to keep her distance from the bearded man. 

A flash of red hair out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and there she was, red hair mussed over her shoulders, a hesitant smile on her face, barefoot and sweaty and looking like a dream come true. The corner of his mouth quirked up as he looked at her, turning to face her, toying with his beer nervously. 

“Hey,” she offered, coming to perch on the bar stool next to him, swaying just slightly, crossing her legs. His eyes dragged up the length of her legs before coming to meet her eyes. An amused smile was playing across her lips. “Can I ask you something?” 

He nodded slowly, taking a pull of his beer as she seemed to carefully consider her words, head tilting to the side as she considered him, before bluntly saying, “I want you. Do you want me?” There was a fear in her crystal blue eyes, but a longing as well. Tenderness, affection, desperation, desire.  
The “hell yes” spilled from his lips without thinking, and he felt a delighted shiver run up his spine at the sound of her surprised laugh. She stood up off the bar stool, stepped up until her feet were between his own, grasping her hands in his shirt and yanking his mouth down to her own in a bruising, blistering kiss. He stood still in complete shock, before melting into her, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her thoroughly, plundering her mouth with his tongue, absorbing her mewls and moans as he bent her backwards, eager to consume her, devour her. 

Sansa pulled back to catch her breath, stepped back from Jon, and started to walk away. He stood with open hands, half-hard and eyes darker than the night, until she turned around, a wicked grin on her kiss-swollen lips. “Take me home, Jon.” 

////

_And I'll be good to you if you're good to me  
And we can go on and on and on and on_


End file.
